Rebel Heart (38 page)

Ash an Molly land their boats well ahead of us. By the time me an Creed reach shore, they bin hauled into the trees an well hid with branches. We do the same, then follow a little path through the woods to the cave campsite that Bram told us about.

There’s a bite to the air. A sting to the mountain breeze. A sharp warnin of winter to come. Creed looks to the sky. Snow on the way, he says.

It’s too early fer snow, I says.

Yeah, maybe, he says.

He stops. Lugh’s standin in front of us in the path. He stands aside to let Creed go past.

She’s dead, says Lugh.

I nod. I clutch the blanket tight around me, shiverin. She saved my life, I says.

You’d think I’d be thankful fer that, he says. I don’t feel particularly thankful.

Tears start to my eyes. Please, I says. Maev was my friend.

Well, I got one up on you, he says. I loved her.

She knew, I says. I go to touch him, to put my hand on his arm, but he steps back.

I’ll give Jack one thing, he says, without him, we’d of never got Emmi outta that place. But she shouldn’t of bin there at all. As fer him sendin that message, draggin us into this, an you – he’s as selfish as you are. I blame the two of yuz fer everythin. Them four settlers, Bram, Maev . . . I lay all their deaths at yer feet. An fer what? Where’s the prize?

There ain’t one, I says.

You’ve betrayed me, he says.

Lugh, I says.

I ain’t got nuthin left to say to you, he says.

He’s like a stranger with his short hair an Tonton clothes. His most well beloved face is closed to me. I asked too much of him. Took too much from him. With no care fer him.

I’m sorry, Lugh, I says. I cain’t tell you . . . how much. Please. I need you. I love you.

He holds up both hands, shakin his head, as he backs away from me. He turns an stumbles off towards the cave.

We’re at some kinda end, Lugh an me. I feel it, a sharp, cruel pain, deep inside of me. In the safest, oldest, most joyful part of me. I wait till I git my tears unner control, then I follow him.

The cave’s a good size. Big enough fer Hermes an Prue to shelter inside as well. There’s a small fire goin. Ash an Tommo an Creed sit by it, warmin theirselfs. Lugh’s joined ’em, but a little ways apart, starin into the flames, not seein.

Tracker greets me with a nudge of his head. Molly wraps another blanket around my shoulders, starts rubbin warmth into me. Her eyes search my face, full of questions. Emmi comes up. She puts her arms around my waist an hugs me tight. Jack ain’t dead, she whispers.

Of course not, I says.

I didn’t think so, she says. I’d feel it if he was.

Molly’s eyes meet mine.

I brought some of my lethal whisky, she says. Put on some dry clothes, then come have a drink.

Me an Em stand there, her arms around me. She’s strong an steady when nuthin else is. She says, Slim said some people hope they’ll die in a . . . blaze of magnificent splendour, like the sun. I think that’s what Maev hoped.

I kiss her on the head. I’m a bad sister, I says.

You ain’t bin havin a easy time, she says.

No, I says.

The important thing is we stick together, she says. You an me an Lugh an Tommo. Will you be okay, Saba?

I dunno, I whisper. This time, I really don’t know.

She holds a blanket up while I crouch behind it to strip an change. I send her back to the fire, then I ball up the skivvies DeMalo gave me an toss ’em into a dark corner. As fer the fine boots, they’re my only ones. Much as I’d like to, I cain’t git rid of ’em. Anyways, I’ve told the lie that they came from Cassie, so I’ll stick to that. I wrap myself in Auriel’s shawl, an go to join everybody. Set my boots to dry by the fire. I stare into the flames in silence, like the rest of ’em.

I’m hollowed out. I walk, my heart beats, I breathe, but I ain’t here. It’s like I bin losin parts of myself all along the way. Back in the Waste with the ghost of Epona. With Auriel. With DeMalo. I wonder if the fire got to his tower room. If it burned him as he lay sleepin. An the last of me here, in this place. With Maev. An Jack.

Jack. It wouldn’t matter if I never saw him agin, as long as I know fer sure that he’s alive. That he didn’t git caught in the explosions or the fires. That would be enough. But somehow – like Emmi – I believe I’d feel it if he was dead.

Skins of Molly’s wormwood whisky pass around. Lugh broods in the shadows. He don’t look at me. He don’t look at nobody, an don’t say a word. Tommo sits beside him, the same.

Bring on sweet oblivion, says Creed. He takes a long drink.

There ain’t no such thing, says Molly. I should know. I tried often enough an hard enough.

When it’s my turn, I pass. I’m numb already. Nero sits in my lap an I stroke his feathers. When the skin gits to Lugh, it don’t go no further. He steadily works at it, him an Tommo, passin it back an forth between ’em. The fire hisses an pops. Everybody stares into it. Thinkin what they’re thinkin. Feelin what they’re feelin. Not speakin. Till Ash says to me, Guess you’ll be on yer way in the mornin.

To the land of milk an honey, says Creed.

I stand up, holdin Nero.

I’m goin fer a walk, I says.

With Nero in my arms, I make my way through the trees towards the lakeshore. The kindness of soft needles unner my bare feet. I reach the water’s edge an stand there fer a moment. The moonpath gleams down the middle of the lake. Cold an sharp. It looks real enough to walk on. Clouds scud across the moon an it disappears. They clear, an there it is agin.

Footsteps behind me. Lugh! I turn an my breath catches when I see who—

Oh! I says, it’s you, Tommo! I didn’t recognize you in them robes.

He comes closer. With purpose. He’s got my bow slung over one shoulder. I realize he’s bin carryin it since we left Bram’s.

Where did you go? he says. When you sent me off? You was gone a long time.

Fergit it, I says. It don’t matter.

He stands in front of me. The night shadows his face. I’d hardly know him in this light. He looks different. Older. A shiver runs over my skin. I rub my arms. It’s cold, I says.

What happened to yer clothes? he says. Where’d you git that red dress?

My heart jumps. How could he have seen? He was in the canoes with the rest by the time I showed up.

What dress? I says. I didn’t have no dress on.

Don’t lie, he says. I notice everythin about you. Things other people don’t. When you looked down, from the landin stage, I seen you.

I, uh . . . ran into a little trouble, I says.

Trouble? he says. What?

I’d rather not say, I says. I . . . it was foolish, but . . . I’d rather jest fergit it. It don’t matter.

He takes my arm. Don’t treat me like a child, he says. I’m a man. I care about you.

I know, I says.

You said to trust you, he says. You kissed me.

Hot shame fer that false kiss tightens my heart. Tommo, I says.

He’s pullin me to him, leanin in, meanin to kiss me agin. I pull back. Turn my head away. A heavy beat of silence.

I’m sorry, I says. I shouldn’t of. It was wrong.

You deceived me, he says.

I’m sorry, I whisper.

Here. He shrugs off my bow an hands it to me. Carry it yerself. I ain’t yer beast of burden.

He turns away. I stop him with a hand. He looks at me, his eyes so dark in the night that I cain’t read ’em.

The dress, Tommo, I says. Nobody . . . I don’t think anybody else noticed. Please. You won’t say nuthin.

His mouth twists. You can trust me, Saba, he says.

A mockin echo of my words to him. My hollow words. A tiny bow of his head an he starts back up the path to camp. I watch till he disappears outta sight.

I set Nero to fly. Barefoot, my bow on my back, I start to scramble my way over the rocks. I gotta be alone. I gotta think.

It’s carved from the mountains, this Glasswater Tarn. A rough, unfriendly shoreline. I nearly fall once, scrape the skin of my hand as I save myself. The sharp shallow pain feels good. I clamber to the top of the biggest rock yet. I’m lookin down on a wide stretch of stony beach.

What was a large Wrecker buildin sprawls along the top. Broken steps, wide an shallow, rise to it from the beach. Made of white stone, the place stands a ghost in the mountain night. It’s collapsed, but fer one end. You can see it was two floors high. Lots of big windows to look out onto the lake, still shards of glass in a few of ’em.

Keeled over onto its side, halfways up the beach, a big boat dreams as its body flakes to rust. There’s the memory of what looks to be a waterwheel at its stern. A boat with a waterwheel. I never thought of such a thing.

I climb down to the beach. My bare feet wake the sleepin stones. They shift an whisper to each other. I walk up the stairs an step inside the bit that’s still standin.

It was one big room. The floor’s crumblin, the ceilin too. In the middle of the floor, a ball lies smashed, some of it still covered with tiny glittery bits of lookin glass. I crouch an pick up a piece. I wonder what this place was. Parts of wooden chair scattered about. A long stone-topped table on iron legs, partly buried unner rubble. I go to it.

On the floor, unner the middle of the table there’s two dusty old boxes. I drag ’em out an put ’em on it. I open the smaller one first. A stack of round plates inside. They’re stiff black plastic, a little hole in the middle of each one. I lift the lid on the bigger box. Some kinda Wrecker tech. A round heavy metal plate, a spindle in the middle, a metal arm with a tiny needle. I study it fer a moment.

There’s a crank stickin outta the right-hand side. I give it a go. It’s stiff, but I manage to turn it a few times. The round plate starts to spin. I slip a black plate onto the spindle. I lift the little metal arm. Drop it on the plate. Sound blares out. I snatch the arm off an back away. I stare at it, my heart beatin fast.

I put the arm down agin. On the very edge of the black plate. This time I take gentle care. Music starts to play. Sweet, sad music. Stringboxes. A woman starts to sing. Words I ain’t never heard, that I don’t unnerstand. It slows down. It stops. I stare at the machine. It only lasted a few seconds. It was like the music in DeMalo’s bunker, but with a voice too. Wrecker music. Sounds from time past. From a gone world.

I turn the crank round an round till it won’t turn no more. Then I set the music to play agin. It flows out. The singer, long dead, long fergot, starts to sing.

I go an sit at the top of the crumblin steps. I lay my bow beside me. I gaze down the silver gleam of the lake an I listen.

It’s the song of a heart to the cold night sky. To moonlight on dark water. The song of a heart that yearns fer somethin it won’t ever have. The music breathes in me. Aches in me.

I don’t know nuthin no more. Why DeMalo reached me the way he did. Why the heartstone burned fer him. I don’t hate him. I know I should, but I don’t, an I don’t want him to be dead. To of died in the fire. I dunno why Maev had to die. An Bram. Lugh’s right. It was my fault. What happened to them is down to me. I dunno how to put things right. I don’t think I can. It’s all gone way beyond sayin I’m sorry.

I ain’t got no peace, anywhere in me. I don’t think I ever will.

Thick, soft flakes of white drop around me. It’s snowin. Creed did say snow was on the way. I look up at the sky. Nero soars across the face of the moon, turns an starts flyin towards me.

Then. From across the lake. From the edge of the night. From the place where the darkness ends an the moonpath begins, a boat glides into view.

A man’s paddlin. All the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

The heartstone starts to warm.

I stand. I take a step forwards. Then another an another till I’m halfways down the beach. There I stop. The long-dead singer sings her song as Nero guides the boatman into shore.

The paddler’s head is bowed to his task. Then he lifts it. An I see who it is.